


a non-platonic platonic idealism

by bannerless (seraf)



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hope's Peak Academy (Dangan Ronpa), Alternate Universe - Non-Despair (Dangan Ronpa), Banter, Bondage, Developing Relationship, Dom/sub Undertones, Friends With Benefits, Hair-pulling, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Role Reversal, Rope Bondage, Trans Amami Rantaro, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, mentions of trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-20
Updated: 2019-05-20
Packaged: 2020-03-08 10:00:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18892354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seraf/pseuds/bannerless
Summary: DEFINITIONS:platonic idealism: the idea that things exist past what we're capable of initially perceivingplatonic: affectionate/friendly without being sexuala non-platonic platonic idealism: the idea that 'friends with benefits' might not be able to describe what you are well enough.





	a non-platonic platonic idealism

‘ i understand what you’re asking, ‘ rantaro says slowly, twisting the red rope over in his fingers, nails painted the same light green as his hair. they offset each other, making an odd kind of contrast. he crosses his legs up on the bed, resting his hands in his lap and setting the rope down by his thigh. they’re both in a comfortable state of half-undress, rantaro shirtless, down to his binder, and kiyo with his mask down around his neck, jacket set neatly over the back of a chair. ‘ i’m just not sure if it’s . . . healthy. for you. ‘

 

‘ i’m not sure i understand what you mean, ‘ kiyo says, voice level, fingers knit together.

 

rantaro smiles, a surface-level kind of thing, and pulls one of kiyo’s hands into his own, tracing over his knuckles with one thumb. his eyes fall a little, from kiyo’s face to be level with his forearms. ‘ what i mean is . . . you know, when you break it down, you’re asking me to hurt you. right? ‘

 

‘ not anything that would cause permanent damage, ‘ kiyo says, but tips his head in a sort of assent. ‘ and that’s a . . . very warped portrayal of it. it’s as much about the power exchange as anything else, and - ‘

 

‘ i know, kiyo, ‘ rantaro says gently, interrupting him, but not in a rude way. he squeezes kiyo’s hand. ‘ i’ve been on the receiving end from you, haven’t i? i understand what the appeal can be about. ‘ he nods down at kiyo’s hands. ‘ do you mind if i take these off? ‘ at the nod of assent, he slowly begins to unwind the lengths of bandages.

 

‘ if that’s the case, though, ‘ kiyo says, trying not to sound irritated, ‘ then why aren’t you willing to reciprocate? i understand if it’s just a role you’re not comfortable with, but you haven’t ever stated as much before. ‘

 

rantaro sighs, still methodically unwinding the bandages from around kiyo’s forearm. when he finishes with one hand, he lets them drop off the side of the bed and looks back up at the other. ‘ because . . . i’m not totally sure what _your_ reasons are for wanting this, kiyo. when it was me, it was experimentation first, and then just because it felt good later. and we both know that much, right? ‘

 

‘ i . . . suppose, ‘ kiyo says, narrowing his eyes ever so slightly. ‘ i don’t see where you’re going with this, however. ‘

 

‘ do you want me to do this because it turns you on, or do you want me to do this because you feel like you deserve to be hurt, or because you’re classically conditioned to associate loved ones with physical pain? ‘ rantaro asks, bluntly. his voice edges on harsh, but his eyes are still gentle, still just . . . concerned. ‘ i mean . . . when you were talking about some of your first experiences with this, you were whipped nearly to the point of death so you could talk to your sister again. it . . . doesn’t totally seem like a _healthy_ association to maintain, you know? ‘

 

for a long moment, kiyo doesn’t speak, just _looking_ at rantaro. gently, he uses his free hand, his still-bandaged hand, to pull the mask up over his face again. ‘ . . . i did not ask you here to psychoanalyze me. ‘ he’s shutting down quickly, rantaro knows, but he wants to be clear with his point.

 

‘ no, ‘ he agrees, ‘ you didn’t. but we’re . . . ‘ what were they, anyway? friends with benefits? dating? this sort of just _happened_ ‘ . . . close. you’ve worried about me in the past, haven’t you? maybe i’m just worried about you, for a change. ‘he sighs, hands resting on his hips. ‘ you’re . . . kinda right, you know. i’m not comfortable doing that. but . . . for your sake and for mine. is that an okay explanation for you? ‘

 

kiyo simply looked down and away.

 

rantaro reached forwards, resting a hand on kiyo’s knee, feeling him jump slightly at the contact, but not moving it. ‘ hey, kiyo. all i want to do is make sure you’re safe, you know? ‘

 

for a long moment, it doesn’t seem like the anthropologist heard him, eyes distant, before he exhales through his mask, long and slow, and tucks a stray strand of hair behind his ear. ‘ i suppose i should expect nothing less from you, ‘ he says, a little ruefully. ‘ that . . . does tend to be your modus operandi a lot of the time. ‘ he’s still not looking at rantaro, but his shoulders are starting to release some of the tension there, just a little. ‘ i’m not about to ask you to change who you are at your core. it is . . . what makes you beautiful, after all. ‘

 

rantaro’s grin returns in full force, bright and uplifting, and he rests a hand behind his head. ‘ aww, you’re too nice, kiyo. ‘

 

korekiyo raises an eyebrow, tipping his head to look at him again, eyes half-concealed behind a curtain of hair. ‘ i only speak the truth. ‘ rantaro can’t be quite sure, with the mask, but he thinks kiyo might be smiling for a second. ‘ don’t confuse me for kokichi. ‘

 

‘ that would be pretty hard, ‘ rantaro says, easing his weight back onto his hands, leaning back casually. ‘ you’re much taller. and prettier. and . . . don’t tell him i said this, but less annoying, as well. ‘

 

‘ flatterer. ‘

 

‘ if you say so, ‘ rantaro agrees cheerfully. he hesitates, and leans forwards again. ‘ listen, i know - we were planning on doing something tonight. is it . . . alright if we compromise? i don’t want to hurt you, but i’m fine with tying you up. if you still would want me to, that is. ‘

 

he knows kiyo is open to the idea when he turns to face him fully and his mask is down around his neck again. ‘ a compromise sounds . . . agreeable, to me. is this something we can discuss in the future, though? ‘

 

‘ of course, ‘ rantaro promises, holding one hand up with a small smile. ‘ maybe you can talk to someone about it. ‘

 

‘ unlikely. ‘

 

‘ alright, that might’ve been pushing it, ‘ he says, with a bit of a chuckle. ‘ that would be . . . a hell of a conversation to have with a therapist, i suppose. ‘

 

‘ you don’t say, ‘ kiyo says flatly, raising one thin, immaculate eyebrow, and rantaro can’t help but grin at their exasperation.

 

he picks up the rope again. ‘ i’m not as good at you when it comes to the aesthetics of it, i’ll admit, ‘ he says. ‘ but i _am_ pretty good with knots, you know. ‘

 

‘ as one would assume from the ultimate adventurer, ‘ kiyo says, and it’s impossible to tell if he’s being serious or facetious. rantaro thinks it might be both, as is kiyo’s way sometimes. it’s easy enough for him to strip down, pulling off his pants and leaving himself in his boxers and binder. kiyo is taking quite a bit longer, meticulously unbuttoning rows of buttons. he looks up at rantaro, fingers pausing for a moment and raising an eyebrow, tilting his chin in the direction of rantaro’s chest. ‘ you’re not going to be wearing that during, are you? ‘

 

rantaro grins a little sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. ‘ guess i hadn’t really thought about it. ‘ he shrugs. ‘ eh, what harm could it do? ‘ he sees kiyo take a breath in, likely about to lecture him about exactly the amount of harm it could do, and raises his hands in a placating gesture. ‘ just kidding, ‘ he says, working to pull it off.

 

‘ you’re going to get horrible acne on your back one of these days, and i won’t have any sympathy for you, ‘ kiyo grumbles in response, finishing unbuttoning his own shirt.

 

‘ terrifying, ‘ rantaro says cheerfully.

 

kiyo mutters something under his breath, and rantaro can’t help but grin at him, reaching forwards to hold his shoulder, pressing a chaste kiss to the side of his lips. he feels kiyo’s slim fingers knit into his hair for a moment, pulling him into a slightly deeper kiss, and snakes his hands down to unbutton kiyo’s pants, slipping under the waistband of his underwear to trace his fingers down kiyo’s hip bones, knowing he’s sensitive there.

 

‘ you need to take off at least _some_ of your jewelry, ‘ kiyo grumbles, nose almost brushing against rantaro’s. ‘ one of your rings scratched me. ‘

 

‘ oh, good point, ‘ rantaro says, sitting up and beginning to pull off his rings, before giving kiyo just a little bit of a shit-eating grin. ‘ i thought you said you _wanted_ me to hurt you, though. ‘

 

‘ get out. ‘

 

‘ this is _my_ room, kiyo. ‘

 

expression blank, kiyo stood up, in nothing but his underwear and the bandages around one of his hands, and began to head for the door. rantaro did his best not to laugh, stifling it behind one hand. ‘ no, kiyo, i’m kidding! come back, i’m sorry. ‘

 

kiyo huffs, sitting back down on the bed. ‘ sometimes i wonder why i put up with you. ‘

 

‘ it has to be for my good looks, ‘ rantaro muses, feigning seriousness and cupping his own face.

 

kiyo studies him for a long moment, before speaking in a serious voice. ‘ no, i don’t think that’s it. ‘

 

rantaro’s shoulders shake with quiet laughter as his head drops. ‘ ouch. ‘ he leans up, kissing the sharp ridge of kiyo’s cheekbone. ‘ you ready? ‘

 

kiyo tips his head in rantaro’s direction to incline assent, the adventurer taking the opportunity to tuck a long strand of hair behind his ear. ‘ where do you want me? ‘

 

rantaro considers him for a long moment, cupping his face as he does. ‘ here, ‘ he says, nodding to the spot on the floor in front of where he sits on the bed. ‘ on your knees. ‘

 

something flashes for a moment in kiyo’s eyes when he says that. something like _interest_. he nods, though, shifting with a fluid motion to kneel in front of rantaro, shaking his hair out of his face and crossing his wrists behind his back pre-emptively. rantaro takes a moment to admire, not for the first time, just how graceful kiyo can be when he moves - smooth and fluid, somewhere between a dancer and a snake.

 

was that a weird mixed metaphor? ah well. it wasn’t as though he’d say it to kiyo, anyway.

 

he picks up the rope from his bed and walks around to stand behind kiyo, taking his own sweet time with his pace before he crouches down, unable to resist pressing a kiss between the sharp outlines of kiyo’s shoulderblades, one hand tracing down his back.

 

he certainly doesn’t have the _elegance_ to his actions or his ropework that kiyo has, nor does he have historical information to offer - but he does have anecdotes, many of them outlandish. as he works to secure kiyo’s wrists to each other, he begins talking about the one time he’d first had to use this - something about mafia members infiltrating the local police, a jet ski race, and having to hide in a restaurant’s walk-in freezer for three hours. he hadn’t managed to find the sister he had been looking for, but he _had_ inadvertantly helped take down some of the corruption of the system locally. as he speaks, he can see each twitch of a smile on kiyo’s face, and when he finishes both the story and the knotwork - kiyo’s wrists bound, and then a short amount of slack before the rope wraps around both of his feet, trapping him in a kneeling position - the anthropologist is shaking his head in amusement.

 

‘ should you ever grow tired of travelling, you could always write a book, ‘ he says. ‘ or some terrible spy thriller movie. ‘

 

even though kiyo can’t see it, rantaro pulls an exaggerated offended face. ‘ are you saying i live a terrible spy thriller life? ‘ he tests the knots for sturdiness and makes sure kiyo has enough room for the ropes to be tight without cutting off circulation.

 

‘ i’m not . . . _not_ saying that. ‘

 

‘ sometimes i wonder why i put up with you, ‘ rantaro says teasingly, echoing kiyo’s own words from earlier. ‘ is that good? ‘

 

kiyo strains briefly against the rope set-up. ‘ clearly, i can’t judge it on an aesthetic basis, but it . . . ‘ his eyes close briefly, face seemingly at peace. ‘ you did well. ‘

 

rantaro sits on the edge of the bed, and for a moment, just cradles the side of kiyo’s face. kiyo lets him, the both of them taking a quiet moment just to let the mindset sink in. for rantaro . . . he’s not quite sure what’s going through kiyo’s head right now, but he’s just glad he trusts him. to be vulnerable in this way around him. it proves he’s not entirely useless as a protector, after all.

 

‘ you know what to do? ‘ he murmurs, after a moment.

 

kiyo’s eyelashes flutter against his skin, but his eyes don’t open as he murmurs ‘ i have a guess, given that the way you’ve positioned me would make it very hard for you to take me. ‘ one eye cracks open to look at rantaro, blatantly looking him over, before his eyes shut again. ‘ reason then stands that you want me to suck your cock. ‘

 

rantaro nearly chokes on his own breath.

 

no matter how many times he’s heard it before, vulgarity from kiyo is just always going to be _bizarre._ not, admittedly, in a bad way. far from it, honestly - his thighs shift subtly against each other, a lazy feeling of _want_ rolling between them. he makes sure his breath is steady when he speaks. ‘ mmhm. do you want to keep your eyes closed? ‘

 

‘ i . . . would, yes. ‘

 

nodding, rantaro slips out of his shorts, letting them drop unceremoniously on the floor, and takes his place on the edge of the bed again, considering kiyo for a long moment, one hand coming to wrap itself in his hair, using it to steer him gently, the anthropologist forced to take a few little shuffling crawls forwards to be in the position he wanted him in. ‘ lean forwards, ‘ he murmurs, and kiyo does, close enough that rantaro can feel it when he exhales, nose brushing the tendon between hip and thigh.

 

slowly, he lifts both legs, draping them over kiyo’s shoulders, and rests his hand on the back of his head, gently but firmly pushing him forwards just a little. the muscles in his legs jump for a moment, startled, as kiyo nips at the inside of his thigh, and he yanks his hair, admittedly more than he had meant to. it doesn’t, however, seem as though kiyo had minded.

 

briefly, kiyo’s tongue drags over his front hole, before rantaro’s fingers tug in his hair just for a second again, and he fastens his mouth over rantaro’s cock, hands straining for a moment against where they’re bound - he wants to be able to hold himself steady on rantaro’s thighs, or be able to curl his fingers into him, but instead he has to rely on rantaro’s hand tight in his long hair to keep him in place, and his mouth to do the work.

 

rantaro can’t help but laugh, breathlessly, as kiyo pauses for a moment to kiss along the inside of his legs - he remembers once when kiyo had forgotten to take off his lipstick, and he’d been left with thighs streaked with red.

 

kiyo drags his tongue over rantaro again, shifts his head forwards, and rantaro bites down a curse - it’s been awhile since he’s done this, and his hips are already starting to jerk involuntarily against kiyo’s face. his hands are white-knuckled in kiyo’s hair, tugging him fast to his crotch, and he just hopes that he doesn’t accidentally suffocate his boyfriend/friend with benefits/whatever they were with his thighs, or tug out his hair.

 

hell, though, it’s a shame kiyo keeps his mouth hidden so much of the time. what he can do with it is a fucking _gift._

 

( it really is a shame, too, that he left his dick back at home over the weekend. a wild, burning part of him in his stomach wants to bend kiyo over and fuck him until all of his sharp edges and tense shoulders fall apart, fall loose. it’s something to look forwards to. for now, he’ll do what he can to make kiyo start to come apart just with his hands in his hair and the deep red rope, omnipresent around the anthropologist. )

 

rantaro bends over hard, so much that their heads nearly collide as he curses, as his legs tighten around kiyo’s head for a moment, and he takes over for a few seconds as he works to push himself over the edge on kiyo’s mouth, the other boy happy to shift his movements with him and turn his mouth pliant as rantaro erratically thrusts into it.

 

the edge comes, and he almost _crumples_ for it, curving around kiyo’s head with a hissed swear as his muscles tense and release, his control over his own body seemingly gone for a moment as his vision swims and pleasure splits through him, leaving his head just a little bit woozy for a moment. he winces as he pulls back, realizing his hand draws back with a few individual hairs he must have yanked out, but as kiyo gently sits back, he doesn’t look too upset about it.

 

all the same, rantaro runs a hand through his hair gently, stroking over it as he crosses his legs and shudders, working down off his high. kiyo’s chin is soaked - either from his own spit or from rantaro, and a tiny, secret part of rantaro finds either possibility sort of attractive - and rantaro cups his cheek for a moment. ‘ you can open your eyes, ‘ he states, quietly.

 

kiyo does so, and rantaro kneels in front of him for a moment, gently brushing their foreheads together, before shifting around him to undo the knots, just as fast if not quicker than he had been to tie them up. ‘ can i help you, this time? ‘ he asks, nodding to where kiyo is very clearly hard. the anthropologist hesitates for a moment, so rantaro just grinds the palm of his hand down against the front of his underwear, kiyo’s recently freed hands coming up to dig into his shoulders with a groan.

 

‘ i suppose, ‘ he says, the usual composure lost from his voice.

 

it’s nothing special, really - kiyo just wraps his arms over his shoulders, clinging tightly onto him as rantaro moves his hand in steady, even motions, until, with a sigh, kiyo releases over his own thighs and abdomen. but rantaro does get what he wanted - the tension in kiyo’s shoulders is gone, the other boy nuzzling into the side of his neck. perhaps not intentionally, but it was stil what was happening.

 

he uses his non-sticky hand to brush down kiyo’s back, long, soothing movements, and kisses the side of his face, soft and tender. ‘ hey, ‘ he murmurs, ‘ let’s . . . get cleaned up. alright? ‘

**Author's Note:**

> frankly lads i just want more practice writing smut 
> 
> comments, etc, are always appreciated thanks! i'd like to know if i'm , y'know, doing well


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